i am the only lonely me
by ICan'tThinkIAmOnlyStone
Summary: "Slowly, the tiger crept towards its prey, spinning its umbrella on its pinkie finger with expert skill." Prompt: the first time the Yarders met Sherlock's older brother, he was descending from a helicopter onto the crime scene below.


Sally Donovan was one word away from snapping and possibly throwing her coffee in his face. She hadn't had a great day so far to put it lightly; her shower was broken, which she'd discovered that morning when she was doused in icy water, her sister had bailed on her for her birthday dinner next week because _"My dog is so ill, I don't think he'll last the week!"_ , not to mention Sherlock's constant sniping was really quite wearing. She could only be called an idiot so many times before it became intolerable. However, that wasn't even the main problem; what was really getting on her nerves was that the Freak's phone wouldn't stop ringing, and he was refusing to pick it up.

They'd called him in for the body of a nineteen-year-old woman found washed up on a large stretch of beach about five-hundred metres from the street, looking like a puppet with her strings cut. She had no marks except a blow to the head, and it was decided the cause of death was drowning. Lestrade was hoping the Freak could pull in some more clues, as there appeared to be nothing to go on.

Sherlock was inspecting the wound with his usual stiff detachment with only the tense set of his shoulders giving away his irritation at whoever was calling him. The other police officers were starting to get restless, muttering and grumbling at one another as the Freak's phone played a version of the queen's anthem over and over and-

"For crying out loud, answer your damn phone! Are you deaf?" Sally snarled suddenly. Even she hadn't been expecting it. The air around Sherlock's head seemed to darken. He turned slightly towards her, not taking his eyes from the corpse, and said in a low voice: "It's not important."

"Looks to me like it is. They've called you four times in a row." Sally had been counting.

"I don't want to speak to him." Sherlock muttered, almost childishly, his long coat sweeping behind him as he stood up. Sally was surprised; not at his childishness (that was a general theme with Sherlock) but that there was somebody whom the Freak felt so strongly about- Sally had long since assumed it was impossible for him to feel any type of emotion except excitement when there was a particularly interesting murder.

"Just answer it." Sally replied, rather curious now. Lestrade noticed and gave her a sceptical side-eye. Anderson scoffed as the ring tone abruptly cut off and then started up again within about five seconds.

"If he is so desperate to speak to me, he can come to me personally." Sherlock sniffed, reaching into his pocket to deny the call. "I'm sure he knows where I am." He added darkly. Lestrade frowned.

"Well," Anderson huffed, as it commenced again, echoing across the vacant beach. "At least silence it for goodness' sake!"

Just then, two things happened that Sally swore she would remember for the rest of her life. A helicopter climbed over the edge of the skyline with a burr of the propellers, and Sherlock's face whitened to the same colour as the cadaver at his feet.

"Hide me!" he hissed, looking almost desperately at the flat, completely empty landscape. Sally could almost see the cogs whir in his brain. He then ran straight into the sea like a fish into water, stripping his coat next to the woman. The police officers all gaped at him, and Sally was convinced he had finally gone round the bend. "Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?" Lestrade's eyes were popping out of his head.

Sherlock put his fingers to his lips as he waded out far enough. "Don't tell him I'm here." He then ducked right underwater, and the sea swallowed him up like jaws over his head, showing no sign he had ever been there.

The helicopter arrived about thirty metres above them, framed by the grey clouds, and had decided to hover there, rather noisily. Sally, only just noticing, stared up at it astonished.

"Sherlock Holmes, you are coming with me." The voice came booming over a loudspeaker, and the whole debacle suddenly sent a jolt of adrenaline down Sally's spine. The other six police officers at the scene just gawped, eyes swapping from where the Freak had disappeared and where the posh English accent had been projected from in the sky.

There was a pause where nobody did anything, that seemed to stretch like bubble gum, getting thinner and thinner until-

"Sherlock, I know you are hiding in the sea." The voice said tiredly. "Don't make me come down there." Anderson snorted in disbelief.

There was no movement from where the Freak had vanished under the water, and Sally suddenly and for no reason at all- she would not admit to it under the worst torture- felt a twinge of concern.

"Alright, I'm coming down." The omniscient voice growled, and a ladder dropped down ominously from the door of the helicopter. Sally found her voice just as a tall man in a suit swung himself gracefully over onto the ladder and began to descend with an umbrella swinging from one hand.

"Excuse me, who are you? This is a crime scene, you aren't allowed-"

"Oh, you'll find I am." The man declared, as he dropped the last five feet elegantly, umbrella twirling. He was slightly out of breath and red in the face, but there was a dangerous glint of fury on his face that made Sally recoil. Intimidating was an understatement. Imperiously, he walked over to Lestrade with his chin held high, and Lestrade looked like a cornered animal.

"I am a member of Her Majesty's government," the man announced slightly wheezily as he caught his breath, flicking a card briefly at Lestrade. "And I need to know where Sherlock Holmes is."

Sally couldn't help but let out a cough of laughter as she put two and two together. "Oh my god. So that's why his ringtone for you is-"

"The Queen's Anthem. Yes, I am quite aware." The man turned to give her a piercing glance, and she felt like a lab specimen being analysed for future research. "He does love a good joke at my expense." He paused, and gave a narrowed-eye glare all around. "I wouldn't advise it." He bit out each syllable like he was slicing the sound with a knife. Every officer paled slightly.

Sally opened her mouth, most likely to ask _"Who are you?"_ or _"I'm sorry, please don't murder me."_ But just then Sherlock decided to speak up. His hair was sopping, dripping a stream down his chin and he was gasping for breath. Sally was delighted to discover how much smaller he looked with his coat gone and his clothes drenched to fit his skinny body. Most women would probably find the sight quite delightful for other reasons, but it would be a cold day in hell when Sally Donovan succumbed to the masses concerning the Freak.

"For God's sake, Mycroft, I am not coming with you." Sherlock jutted his chin out petulantly, and the man called Mycroft gave a sigh.

"A promise is a promise, Sherlock."

"I did not promise." Sherlock scowled menacingly, but with the water dribbling over his face, he just looked like a sullen child.

"You did. If I recall, the words were 'If you let me in to work on the Japanese case, I will do you one favour.' Sound familiar?" Mycroft sauntered forward as Sherlock loped fluidly out of the ocean.

"Excuse me-" Lestrade began, but was cut off abruptly.

"You tricked me. You said it would be dangerous, and that there was a high chance the smuggling ring would have ninjas to fight. I didn't fight a single ninja, just overweight guards. All I got out of that case was a thank you letter from the Emperor and a lot of good that'll do me. I sold it to one of my Homeless Network for information by the way." Sherlock sniffed. What the hell was he on about? Most of the officers were watching, perplexed and unnerved. A thank you letter from the Emperor?

Mycroft glared at him for a moment in a way that would make a lesser man quail, but Sherlock gave as good as he got, locking Mycroft in a dead stare. The helicopter began to land on the beach, ladder sucked back up into it like a noodle. The thrumming of the blades overlaid every other sound.

"So, that was where you were all of last month, when you said you were busy fighting ninjas, you actually were?" Anderson interjected incredulously.

Sally swore she heard Sherlock actually growl then, like a feral animal, and Mycroft scoffed in a woe-be-you kind of way. They still had yet to take their eyes off each other. "Anderson, I know you aren't bright, but please at least try to follow the thread of the conversation. It would help us all out a great deal." Sherlock snarled. "There were no ninjas, because Mycroft here manipulated me."

"Manipulated?" Mycroft echoed. He seemed to mull it over. "Huh, yes I suppose I did."

Sherlock harrumphed grumpily, but didn't appear to have anything to say to that.

Lestrade interrupted the staring match with a cough, and both men drew their eyes from each other to the DI, who suddenly seemed to realise the weight of both condescending stares at once.

"Um... Mycroft, is it?" He held out his hand for the man to shake, which Mycroft did after a moment of deliberation, clasping it loosely, and letting go as quickly as possible.

"Mr Holmes, please."

"Mr-" Lestrade choked for a moment, giving the words a chance to slap everyone else around the face. There were two of them? Sally felt like her worldview had just been tilted on its axis, spun around a few times and dropped from a height. The laughter bubbled up out of nowhere, she swore. Afterwards she would realise perhaps the rudeness of bursting into laughter at this revelation, but in the moment the whole situation was hysterical, in her defence.

"Of course," she gasped. "Only the Freak would have an even wackier brother," Sally's eyes were watering. "With a helicopter!" She couldn't breathe, and Anderson was looking at her like she'd gone crazy, obviously already cowed by the brother, and Lestrade was sighing at her in disappointment, whereas Sherlock seemed to be staring with his rarely seen this does not compute face which just made her laugh harder. "And- and he hid in the sea!" The mirth seemed to erupt out of her from the darkest parts of her soul; it was endless.

Suddenly she glimpsed Mycroft's face and it didn't seem quite so funny anymore. The word murderous sprung to mind, but Sally figured most would find that too mild. Her laughter trickled off then, followed by a gulp that she hadn't meant to be so loud.

Slowly, the tiger crept towards its prey, spinning its umbrella on its pinkie finger with expert skill.

"Sally Margaret Donovan, I presume. Been working here nine years, is it? Happy birthday for tomorrow, by the way, it's such a shame your sister has that new boyfriend of hers, otherwise I'm sure she'd love to celebrate with you. Or not, as the case may be."

Sherlock watched his brother with vague interest, typing something into his phone. Sally was clenching and unclenching her fists, well aware that she was out of her depth.

"Now, you've been wanting that promotion to Detective Inspector for quite some time now, right?"

Sally nodded dumbly, wanting to snap back a harsh retort, but being unable to find the words. Mycroft hummed under his breath, and Sally felt her stomach drop.

"Interesting. The announcement is next month, I'm sure you are aware." The tiger turned its head away to examine the horizon, as if to create that sense of false calm that cats often bestow to their prey by feigning lack of attention. Sally could see the hook of his nose and upper-class chin in profile.

"What-" Sally hissed, then took a deep breath, and tried to continue more genially through gritted teeth. "-are you implying?"

Mycroft whipped his head round then, and fixed her with his eyes, expression emotionless. His eyebrows lowered to shadow his eyes threateningly.

"If you ever insult my brother in my presence ever again, I will personally make sure you do not get a job in police work for the rest of your life." Sally could see just from the tight set of his mouth that this was no idle threat. Considering the helicopter, it was quite possible he had the power too. With that said, he spun around to face Sherlock almost as dramatically as Sherlock always moved (although not quite, considering Sherlock topped nearly everyone in that regard.). Sally stood with her mouth open, and she was pretty sure her left knee was quaking, but it was out of her control. Sherlock was looking between them, with an almost astonished expression, that he quickly smoothed into blankness.

"Sherlock, we must go, or we'll be late." The helicopter sat on the beach about ten metres down, looking sleek and expensive.

"Nobody will want to see me, Mycroft."

"I told the duchess-"

"You know as well as I do that it's an infantile crush that compels her to want to see me, not that she can combat me on an intellectual level in any case. Considering the Duke is on holiday this week, I would rather not be alone with her, especially since-" Sherlock shuddered. "-last time."

"Sherlock-"

"Not to mention, I am on a case, if you didn't notice."

Mycroft smirked. "This is child's play, brother mine."

Sherlock pouted sulkily, jabbing a few buttons on his phone. "Fine. Lestrade, this is indeed a murder. You can tell by the calluses on her fingers that she rowed regularly, canoe most likely due to the chafing on her shoes and the muscle definition in her legs- used to having them wider with higher use of the thigh muscles, feet resting against the sides of the boat.

The head wound itself was made with an oar; there is still two wooden splinters in the flesh made from wood maintained specifically for boats and oars, which you could have noticed if you'd been looking -not that I expect you lot to ever find anything of use. A woman of her description went missing 24 hours ago named Melanie Tyseley whose last post on social media was an announcement that she was going canoeing.

As you can see, being Muslim, which you can tell from the tan lines suggesting that she normally wears a burqa, not to mention her social media page, she had recently backed out of an arranged marriage, and according to her Facebook messenger which I hacked into - you're welcome by the way- her conversation with her father suggests his displeasure at the shame brought to their family.

She hardly ever makes status updates on Facebook, this being the first in 6 months which suggests, taking into account the sudden lack of grammar or ability to spell, that it was made by the father who has the exact same writing style, after having already kidnapped her and knocked her out to then push her into the river and make it look accidental. Now it's up to you useless lot to prove it." Sherlock said this at the speed of lightning, and then glanced at Mycroft smugly.

Mycroft hummed. "Well done, brother mine. I believe using social media is cheating though, don't you?"

Sherlock was clutching his phone tightly, eyes narrowed. "How could you possibly know about her father without it?"

Mycroft tapped his umbrella on the ground and a woman hopped out of the helicopter, who had her eyes glued to her mobile. She came to stand by Mycroft silently.

"Anthea, tell mother we will be half an hour late to dinner."

"Of course, sir."

Anderson began to splutter in indignation then, and Sally almost hoped he would get a dressing down as well, just so the humiliation could be spread. Almost.

"Are you telling me all of this-" Anderson gestured to the helicopter, Anthea, and Sherlock's soaked self. "-is because of your mother's dinner party?" Anderson's face had flushed with annoyance, and his clenched fists were shaking.

Both men turned to stare at him confused. Mycroft looked over at Sherlock, who gave a bewildered shrug. Sherlock's face was a picture of annoyance cross bafflement. "Was that rhetorical?"

"Oh my god!" Anderson stormed off in a huff, trying not to twist his ankles in the sand. Lestrade closed his eyes for a moment, then gave Sally a look that read _'watch these two and make sure nothing untoward happens, or so help me god, I am jumping into the sea and never coming out'_ and announced he would see after Anderson.

"Sherlock, if you don't come with me right this instant, I will give these lovely police officers a warrant to search your flat."

"I am clean!"

"Ah, but is your flat?" Mycroft smirked. Sherlock opened his mouth to respond, but Mycroft interrupted. "I know about the toilet valve."

Sherlock's face paled and then went bright red with irritation, before he relaxed, and shrugged casually. "Then you'll know I cleared that space out two weeks ago. There is nothing to be found."

Mycroft pursed his lips, and inspected his brother's face for signs of a lie. Sherlock looked unnaturally open and innocent, which made Sally suspicious, but seemed to convince Mycroft.

"Fine. I will tell you how you can know about the father and arranged marriage without social media. You won't know otherwise."

"I will." Sherlock replied confidently.

Mycroft sighed, defeated. "And I will put you in for the undercover mission in the British terrorist group."

Sherlock grinned. "Deal." This must have been the most bizarre interaction between siblings that Sally had ever seen.

"Sherlock," Sally cringed as his actual name came out of her mouth. "You can't leave, we still need you to explain it all to the team."

"I've done it all adequately." Sherlock was already bolting nimbly for the helicopter.

"My apologies, Sergeant Donovan, but if one must endure the chatter of goldfish, one should at least bring along a clown-fish to liven up the goldfish bowl." Mycroft gave her a quick, stiff and entirely false smile before following after his brother.

Two months later, in the middle of the serial suicides, during the drugs bust on Sherlock's flat, Sally recalled the event.

"Anderson, check the toilet valve!"

"Oh, damn you, Mycroft!"


End file.
